


"Fuck you and your suits"

by Sanguinifex (Eros_Scribens)



Series: The Bisexual Awakening of John Fitzgerald Byers [1]
Category: The Lone Gunmen (TV), The X-Files
Genre: Argument sex, Canon Era, Coming In Pants, Dom!Langly, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Foot Jobs, Humiliation, M/M, Oral Sex, Suit Kink, Tie Kink, Tie pulling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 22:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16669102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eros_Scribens/pseuds/Sanguinifex
Summary: Langly thinks suits and dry-clean-only are bougie filth and gets mad at Byers for paying for dry cleaning when they can't afford to print their next edition. Things get out of hand, or out of pants--well, Byers still has his pants on, but that doesn't stop him from getting off.





	"Fuck you and your suits"

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [ambiguously_anomalous](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ambiguously_anomalous) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> It's the turn of the century, and our heroes are broke, once again, but Byers still has enough money to get his suits dry-cleaned. Langly is not thrilled with this development and threatens the integrity of Byers's favourite suit. With his dick. Byers finds himself weirdly turned on, and while he won't stand down on the issue of his suits, maybe there's another way he can make it up to Langly.

“So we can’t afford to print our next edition, but you spend money on _dry cleaning_?” Langly stormed into Byers’ room, waving a receipt. So that’s where it had gotten to. He’d been looking for it.

“There isn’t any other way to clean a suit,” explained Byers, hanging up another pair of trousers.

“You could at least wear normal clothes when we’re not on a job!”

“And you could wear normal clothes when we _are_ on a job,” Byers shot back. “Suits are normal clothes.”

“Listen, I don’t know how they do it in Narcville, Fedlandia, but normal people don’t wear suits every single minute when they’re not at a job that makes them do it. They wear jeans. T-shirts. Clothes that can be washed at a proletarian laundromat for a couple of quarters. Not stupid, expensive, bougie suits.” Langly yanked open a dresser drawer, spotting plaid flannel. “Huh. You do have pajamas. I was starting to think you slept in the suits.”

“Langly!” protested Byers, appalled at the invasion of privacy. “That’s my stuff!”

“Cleaned by _our_ publication money, apparently.”

“That’s not—”

Langly grabbed the hanger bag Byers had forgotten he was holding, grinning with some kind of destructive exuberance. “Want to see what I think of your suits, Byers?” He set it down on the bed, ripped open the plastic, and then, as Byers watched in stunned silence, unbuttoned his jeans, faster than it seemed like should be possible with a button fly.

“What the Christ are you going to do, pee on my suit?” asked Byers, finally horrified back into the ability to speak.

“Pee? No. Considered it, but I don’t want the mattress stinking up this place and we _can’t afford_ to replace it.” Langly pulled his dick out of his boxers and began an unmistakable set of motions.

“Are you seriously--?”

“Fucking stop me, Byers.” Langly stared him straight in the eye with a manic grin. “Make me.” He bit back _Defend the honor of your suit_ , because he was pretty sure if he actually said that he’d start laughing too hard to keep a boner. Really, more like get one in the first place.

“You’re insane,” said Byers, but without any real confidence. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Langly’s dick—well, mostly Langly’s fist—hovering over his one genuine wool blazer, the one way above his pay grade even when he’d still been with the FCC, the one his father had given him for Christmas several years ago so he’d have “something decent to wear for the photos,” and somehow all _that_ baggage made the tangle of feelings in his stomach even more confusing.

“Confusing” really being only a secondary part of it. Byers wasn’t usually into men, though to be fair, it was more like avoiding thinking about the idea than a definite preference. When he had been, it was, well, _Bowie_ , or something, and did that much makeup even count? And he’d certainly never imagined someone barging into his room and threatening to destroy his clothes as romantic. The closest thing he’d ever thought or dreamed about, to this, was _girls’_ catholic school uniforms, and he’d _gone to_ a catholic school for six highly formative years, which ought to explain it.

But there he was, watching Langly wank on his best clothing, and developing a situation inside his astutely tailored pants.

Langly noticed. “Are you fucking getting off on this? On me _ruining your suit_?”

Byers made a strangled whimpering sound as he felt himself twitch inside his increasingly tight underwear. He twitched again, as a drop of precum fell on the wool.

“Okay,” Byers said, licking his lips and trying to get through a sudden case of dry mouth. “Maybe I have a thing”—and that was something he was going to examine later, if ever—“but seriously, I just had that cleaned, it cost ten dollars just for that blazer if I’m remembering correctly, and in the long run it’s going to suck if I have to take that to the cleaners’ again. You really can’t fake your way through it with a washing machine on silk-lined wool.”

“Maybe you should suck my dick if you’re so worried about your precious suit jacket.”

There was a fraught pause, broken only by their mutual heavy breathing and the sounds of Langly’s hand against his dick, as that sentence clattered through both their minds. Langly wondered if he had gone too far, if what had started as a stupid display of dominance and class politics had turned into the sort of thing people got arrested or gaybashed for, why Byers hadn’t just shoved him out the door and called him an idiot, even as his hand continued to move on his dick. Byers’ thoughts swirled with his own overwhelming arousal and whether this would be awkward, later, the pointless cost he really couldn’t properly afford if he had to clean the jacket again, and the maddeningly perverse image of his imminently spoiled suit.

“All right,” Byers said at last, swallowing hard. “I’ll do it.” He stepped forward to meet Langly and then, because that was what happened in porn and bathroom graffiti, dropped to his knees, entirely unsure how this actually worked.

“Open your mouth,” prompted Langly, sardonically.

Right. That was probably necessary. Byers opened his mouth as wide as he could and hoped that would be enough. Langly wasn’t huge, maybe even a little smaller than himself, but the diameter and length were still alarming, this close to his face.

Langly slid his dick into Byers’ open but unresponsive mouth. He thrusted shallowly a few times, just the tip really, but it was like trying to fuck an inanimate object. He was quite sure Byers had absolutely no idea what he was doing. Predictable, in retrospect, that an overstarched Catholic government paladin would find blowjobs so appallingly kinky—get with the times, man!—that, based on this performance, he’d probably never even received one.

“Don’t just sit there, use your tongue or something. Actually suck on it,” Langly ordered, hoping this wouldn’t turn into, say, having to explain where babies came from.

 _Use my tongue_ , Byers thought. He closed his lips around the penis in his mouth, being careful to avoid biting it—that much was intuitive—and tentatively flicked his tongue across what felt like the rim of the head.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Langly gasped, grabbing the end table. “Keep doing that. Congratulations, right on the first try, which is not what I expected from someone who spends ten dollars to wash a jacket. Bet you’re wishing I was still going to spunk on your rich-boy suit, so you could pay through the nose to metaphorically fellate Big Dry Cleaning again.”

Langly pulled out. “I’ll give you a break for a second. Just need to sit on something, and I don’t want to run into your teeth doing it.” He grabbed Byers’ tie, and pulled him forward a few inches as he sat on the edge of the end table.

Byers moaned—actually moaned. Langly raised his eyebrows, and gave the tie another experimental tug.

“Is that your secret? You wear ties all the time because it’s basically showing everyone your dick? Nasty. Who would’ve thought?”

Byers threw back his head, leaning on the tie for support, eyes half closed, mouth open, pants tented. His nails bit into his palms as he clenched his fists, trying not to touch himself. He wanted, he wanted so much, but his own hands always felt almost like numbness compared to aching anticipation, and his self-control was the last shred of dignity he had left. So he wouldn’t—unless Langly told him to, he realized. He’d bring himself off, on anything he actually dared put in the washing machine at least, if Langly told him to.

And Langly was still talking. Talking, and playing with himself with one hand, holding Byers’ tie in the other. “It’s really genius. Everyone thinks you’re this upstanding—heh—conservative god-and-country patriot, and really you’re a freak who wanted a government job because you have a suit fetish. And you could leave this dump and go get a ‘proper’ job any time you like, but all I’d have to do to show them what you really are is pull your tie just…like…this.” And Langly did. Byers thrust his hips in the air, whimpering.

“Suck me off, Byers, and maybe I’ll let you get your perverted little rocks off.”

Without further prompting, Byers leaned in, licking clear fluid off Langly’s cock. He gasped as Langly’s right foot found the bulge in his own trousers. He took the head fully in his mouth again, almost instinctively kneading the flesh with his tongue in the same rhythm as Langly’s foot worked over his own cock, tensing his lips to keep the teeth out of the way.

“Just like that,” panted Langly, feeling his balls draw up. “Keep doing that, and ruin your fucking fancy suit pants for me.”

Byers came then, on command, even as Langly striped his face and tie—his tie!—with white. Each clench started deep inside him and rippled a wave of heat through his cock, and he ground into the sole of Langly’s shoe even though the pressure hurt. Too soon, it was over, and Byers was left with relaxed warmth in his chest, an already chilling wet spot on his crotch, and somewhere underneath it, a sense of restlessness, as if there were one wave of his orgasm left but it couldn’t quite come to fruition, wanting more of _something_ despite being too spent and sensitive to be touched again, like he always was after he did something like this. Well, something sexual, anyway. He’d never done anything before remotely like _this_.

“You’d better not have gotten anything on that suit,” Byers heard himself say through aching lips.

“Oh shit. Nope, not the suit, though I got the plastic a little.” Langly paused. “Don’t tell me the tie or your pants are dry-clean only, too.”

“No, the slacks are washable, and this is the tie I don’t really like and only wear when I send my other ties for cleaning.”

“Test the back side of it to see if it’s colorfast and use cold water if it is,” said Langly, absently, buttoning up his fly.

“How do you know so much about getting semen out of clothing?”

“Sheets, mostly. Mom told me when she caught me doing laundry in the middle of the night in high school. I don’t want to know how she knows.”

“ _You_ wash the tie, laundry nerd,” complained Byers, undoing it halfway and pulling it over his head. “I need to change my pants.”


End file.
